


Red Journal, or, the Sun, the Earth, and the Moon

by grumby



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: 6000 words of blupcretia pining shenanigans, Blupcretia babey!!!, F/F, F/M, Multi, this was meant to be a ficlet!!!!! someone stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumby/pseuds/grumby
Summary: Lucretia tears a page out of her notebook.It feels like a desecration, but leaving it in would be worse. These are official mission logs, after all, and she can’t very well have all the higher-ups reading sentences likeshe’s ethereal, like a blessing from on high, a gift from the gods, and she knows it; she walks with such confidence, talks with a conviction in herself that’s undeniable and infectious -She’d written all that out, and only after she’d looked back at it had she realised,oh, uh-oh, that’s not something a straight person would say.
Relationships: Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Barry Bluejeans/The Director | Lucretia, Barry Bluejeans/The Director | Lucretia/Lup, The Director | Lucretia/Lup
Comments: 32
Kudos: 58





	Red Journal, or, the Sun, the Earth, and the Moon

Lucretia was sick before the press conference. 

The twisting terror in her gut refuses to let up, no matter how many breathing exercises she tries, no matter how hard she bites her tongue. Now she’s still terrified, but she’s also got the iron tang of blood in her mouth, mixing with the slightly acidic flavour still left in her mouth to create the most revolting cocktail imaginable. She’s sweating buckets, just trying not to think about it, trying to recall the basic safety procedures, or the bond mechanics lessons they’d all been given, or _fucking anything to take her mind off the TV appearance she’s required to make._

There’s a reason Lucretia ghostwrites. Fame has never held any appeal for her. She wakes in a cold sweat from dreams – nightmares – of award ceremonies or book signings or ... well, or press conferences. 

Her breath is coming shallow, her heart pounding in her chest, just off-stage. She’s absently biting her lip, picking at her nails, drumming her feet. The fanfare plays, the introductory movie begins, and Lucretia’s suddenly convinced that she’ll be sick again, maybe on stage this time, in front of all those people and their cameras and - 

“Hey, you good, babe?” 

She looks up, expecting to find maybe Magnus or Barry – they seemed nice, people she could envision herself being friends with, given time. Instead, it’s one of the twins. Lucretia still can’t really tell which. They somehow make their red jacket and robe combo look like it’d be at home at one of the fashion shows Lucretia had covered as a junior reporter, their makeup designed to shout _look at_ _me!,_ their hair pulled back in a simple ponytail that still somehow seems alluring in the way it frames their face. She's fascinated, really; Lucretia uses makeup and clothing like camouflage, aiming to blend in and hide her away amongst the crowd, and seeing someone use their looks as a weapon, a blunt instrument to demand attention and respect, projecting confidence and security? It’s something she’d never even considered possible. 

The gorgeous elf looks down at her with sympathy. “Stage fright? It’s okay, babe, no one’ll be looking at you with me and Taako right there.” She – for it must be Lup – grins, and despite herself Lucretia finds herself smiling along. “C’mon, we’ll be fine. You’re gonna be an _astronaut,_ Luce, who cares what these dumbass reporters think? We’re literally too good for this world; they had to find another just for us.” 

The fanfare plays again – that's their cue. Lucretia’s smile wavers and she gulps, finding her mouth suddenly dry again. 

“Hey, Creesha, c’mon. We’ve got this. Promise. If you fall over or something I’ll start cussing so they can’t air it.” 

Lucretia huffs a laugh and tries to blink back her anxious tears as Lup offers her a hand. As soon as she takes it, she’s aware that she should’ve wiped it down on her robe first, but Lup doesn’t give any indication she’s noticed how sweaty her grasp is. “C’mon. You got this, babe.” 

Lucretia tears a page out of her notebook, that night. 

It feels like a desecration, but leaving it in would be worse. These are official mission logs, after all, and she can’t very well have all the higher-ups reading sentences like _she’s ethereal, like a blessing from on high, a gift from the gods, and she knows it; she walks with such confidence, talks with a conviction in herself that’s undeniable and infectious -_

She’d written all that out, and only after she’d looked back at it had she realised, _oh, uh-oh, that’s not something a straight person would say._

Of course, she doesn’t have long to think about it before everything goes to hell. 

Lucretia isn’t sure of her place in this new world. 

Everyone else seems to fall right into a routine, but Lucretia... She’s only here as a chronicler. She’s recording the mission for an institute that no longer exists. 

Where’s she going to get more journals? She’s already switched to shorthand, using her smallest handwriting, aiming to somehow prolong her stash of journals from five months’ worth into a year, at minimum. 

But she’s also stolen a small red one from the pile. 

That’s how it feels, even though the journals are _hers._ It feels like theft because these books are meant to be for the mission, the facts, the details of life aboard the Starblaster. 

Lucretia might be a journal-keeper, but she’s never been much of a diarist. It’s an important distinction, in Lucretia’s mind if nowhere else – a _diary_ implies personal, implies feelings, and Lucretia keeps those out of her journals. She writes as a passive observer, someone watching but never a part of events. It’s important to her that those reading her books are never influenced by her perspective. Objectivity is her watchword. 

So, writing a diary is an odd experience. 

Admitting she’s head over heels for Lup is hard, at first. But it becomes harder to ignore and easier to admit (in the privacy of her red journal, at least) with every day they live on the ship together, every day Lucretia sees that smile, or hears her laugh, or watches the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder like that. 

Once, Lucretia had caught Lup jogging. She’d been glistening with sweat in the morning sun, her muscles taut, her breathing coming hard and fast, and Lucretia had had to go have a cold shower. 

She’s writing in her red journal, a mug of coffee by her side, her legs curled up beneath her. She just needs a way to vent, to get her feelings out of her and onto paper, because sometimes it feels like she’s going to burst under the strain. 

It’s not all about Lup. Sometimes she details the stresses of life in a world without electricity, or libraries, or _toilets_ _._ There's one bathroom on this entire plane, and she shares it with six other people. This is her personal hell.

But, well, it is _mostly_ about Lup. She’s done sketches of the beautiful elf curled up in a sunbeam like a cat, or with a fireball in both hands and a grin on her face, or wrapped in a blanket at one of their movie nights, eyes half-lidded and tired but still gorgeous. She’s written about every hug given for comfort, every high five, every hand offered to help her up. 

Suffice it to say, when Barry arrives in the common room, she snaps the book shut pretty quickly. 

“Hey, uh, hey,” he says, with a nervous grin, and she smiles in reply. He’s always anxious, as much as her, sometimes, and she recognises a kindred spirit in many ways. 

“Hi, Barry. Can I help you?” 

Lup appears in the doorway behind him, and Lucretia’s suddenly hyper-aware of the red journal burning in her hands. The absurd thought that maybe they can somehow read her effusive praise through the book’s cover plagues her, and she gulps. “Hey, Lucy!” Lup smiles that smile still that makes Lucretia a little weak at the knees after all this time. 

“Hi, Lup,” she replies, trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Can’t I just come say hi to my favourite nerd?” 

She swells under the compliment, but outwardly just raises an eyebrow with a sardonic smile. 

“Okay, okay,” Lup says. “Listen, this is gonna sound crazy, but hear us out. We think the animals have a cohesive language. Like, all of them.” 

Lucretia furrows her brow. It sounds fantastical, unbelievable, like something from the pages of a fantasy novel, but... Well, maybe she wouldn’t believe it if it weren’t Lup telling her, but she can’t find it within herself to doubt a word she says. 

“It’s fascinating,” Barry says. “They, uh, the mongoose family, they’re trying to teach us some of it. We’ve got a few words, like, uh -” 

Lup grunts, a low sound that ends with a click at the back of her throat. “That one means fuck,” she grins widely, and Lucretia laughs. 

“I hope you haven’t been saying that in front of their children,” she smiles. 

Lup shrugs with a conspiratorial wink. “Anyway, we were hoping,” she says, with a coaxing smile, “that you’d maybe come and help us record their language?” 

“We, uh, it’ll be a lot of work. We don’t think they’ve got a written alphabet,” Barry supplies, “so we’re thinking we’ll have to create our own.” 

“And who’d be better to help us than our resident literary genius Lucretia?” Lup grins. 

Lucretia doesn’t need the flattery. She’d been in from the moment Lup had asked her. 

Once it becomes clear that there’s no end in sight, Lucretia’s purpose is reaffirmed. She’s going to record every story from every plane, and carry their memories with them. 

Of course, she makes her own memories, too. 

It becomes harder to distance herself with every passing day. She’s drawn further into her friendship with the crew, with Lup and Barry especially. Her red notebook starts to fill up. 

Lucretia’s a useless bisexual in a crew of _very_ attractive people, and yet she’s only got eyes for one. 

Loud music plays. Lucretia would guess that it’s something from Magnus’ playlist, because it’s got that distinctive 80’s vibe, but she’s not really sure. She’s much too busy watching Lup dance on the table. 

It’s Lucretia’s birthday. Forty years old and still looking twenty-two. People back home would be asking for her skincare routine for sure. 

They’ve all dressed up for the occasion. It’s nice to have something to celebrate on uninhabited planes, so Barry and Lup had worked out the math of all their birthdays, and apparently today is hers. Taako had conjured up decorations – balloons, a banner that says happy birthday, a cake with candles that she’d blown out. 

_(_ _“Tell us your wish, Lucy!”_ _Lup had heckled, and normally Lucretia would tell her, but she couldn’t very well say_ _“I wished that you’d take me back to my room and -”_ _so she’d smiled and said,_ _“but then it won’t come true!”_ _)_

Back home, Lucretia had never really celebrated her birthday. She’d always hated being the centre of attention, and it’s not as if she’d had anyone to really celebrate with. 

It’s a different experience on the Starblaster, with her family. The atmosphere is joyful, and Lucretia’s never felt more at home. 

But, yeah, back to Lup. 

She’s stood, barefoot, on the dining table, having kicked off her heels to clamber up. She moves with the music, hips and arms and feet, her eyes closed as she lets the music flow through her. Lucretia’s stunned, breathless, reverent, by how beautiful she is, how utterly gorgeous. 

And then Lup opens her eyes and they make eye contact for just a moment. Lucretia’s embarrassed for a split second – gods, she’s been staring, how long has her mouth been open in awe, oh no – and then Lup _winks._

And she slowly crouches, still moving in sync with the music, wiggling her hips, until her face is on a level with Lucretia’s, and they’re just inches apart, and Lup’s lips part and she wets them with her tongue. Lucretia finally tears her eyes away from Lup’s lips and makes eye contact, only to realise with a start that Lup’s watching her mouth, too. 

Some small part of Lucretia’s brain is yelling at her. _There’s still five other people in this room! Someone’s going to see!_ But she can’t bring herself to care as Lup places a palm delicately on her cheek and winks again and leans in for a kiss. 

It’s quick and it’s chaste but it’s enough to knock the floor out from under Lucretia’s feet, and she’s falling and there’s no end in sight; it’s enough to make the world spin around her like she’s stepped off a merry-go-round; enough to leave her breathless like she’s run a marathon. 

And then Merle wolf-whistles, and Lup flips him off as she hops down from the table as Lucretia blushes and melts into her chair. 

After the party, Barry corners her in the dimly lit corridor, and she’s worried, for a minute, that he saw their kiss. 

After all, Lucretia is perceptive. She couldn’t do her job if she weren’t. And she’s seen the way Barry looks at Lup. She’s sure she gives her that exact same look; awestruck, reverential, lovesick. 

She tries to imagine how she’d feel if it were Barry Lup had kissed today. Just imagining it leaves her feeling hollow. He’d surely hate her if he knew. 

Instead, he smiles, a little awkwardly. “Hey, uh, Creesh, I – happy birthday,” he says, and offers her a little notebook. She recognises it as one of her own, and she raises an eyebrow at him, but he laughs and simply says, “open it.” 

It’s filled with his handwriting, loopy and untidy, but concise and detailed. She scans the first page. 

“When, uh, you died last cycle, I thought – well, I thought you’d be disappointed if someone didn’t fill in the blanks for you. I’m, uh, I’m sure it’s not up to your standards, but -” 

She exhales, a little teary. She’d resigned herself to losing that world forever, when she’d died early, but Barry’s thoughtful generosity has meant there won’t be a hole in her records for that year. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice failing a little. “I - I don’t know what to say.” 

She’s tearing up a little, and his face falls. “Aw, uh – I'm sorry, I didn’t -” 

“No, no, it’s good! It’s -” She protests. “Thank you, Barry.” 

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, and without thinking she steps in closer to wrap her arms around him.

Her head is pressed to his chest, and after a second of surprised stiffness he leans into it, wrapping his big, strong arms around her, resting his chin on her head. He’s warm and soft and he smells good, vaguely like vanilla, and in the darkness the realisation hits her like freight train. 

After that, she notices little things. Barry’ll bring her a coffee, made exactly the way she likes it, or he’ll softly remind her to eat when she’s nose-deep in a book. He’ll encourage her to come out of her shell, to engage with the rest of them, with a soft smile that turns her knees weak as surely as Lup’s devious grins. He’ll shoot her a wink as everyone else makes fun of his fashion sense, a wink that says, _hey, they’re not wrong._

_I have a crush on Barry,_ she writes, in her little red journal, and puts her head in her hands. Why did she have to realise that on the night Lup had kissed her? 

Lup doesn’t mention the kiss again, and Lucretia doesn’t push. But things feel different in their trio. She goes to help Barry with the engine, and her mouth goes dry at his big hands coated in motor oil, his hard muscles underneath all his softness straining as he pulls on a wrench, the sweat that glistens on his brow. She helps Lup collect flower samples, and Lup weaves some into her hair and presents the rest in a tidy bouquet later. 

Years pass, and her red journal fills. She writes new notes in the margins of old, new stories of accidental touch or yearning looks across dinner. Years turn into decades, and those feelings never fade. 

She takes notes of every occasion, even though reading them makes her heart hurt. She’s so in love with the both of them, and how can she believe that either of them would love her? Especially given - 

Their music is beautiful. It gives Lucretia goosebumps, and she’s thankful for Magnus’ tears of joy because they give her a mask for the bitter, bitter tears that roll down her face. 

She hates herself, that evening. 

They’re so in love. How can she wish that away? How can she wish that it were her, instead, on that stage, with Lup, or with Barry, or both -? 

Every time they touch she looks away, and every time they kiss she feels like screaming. And every time they smile at each other, those gazes full of adoration, she has to clamp down on a wave of jealousy that threatens to drag her out to sea and drown her. 

She’s greedy. She wants what they have, to be so deeply in love, to be adored, to be the centre of another’s world, and the want is killing her. 

It’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to the two people she loves more than anything in the world, so she suppresses it, stamps down on it, drowns it out with forced happiness for them. Fake it ‘til you make it, she orders herself. She throws the red journal away, tossing it in Legato’s ocean and regretting it immediately and bitterly. She walks home in the rain, not even bothering to put her hood up, letting the water wash her feelings away, flooding down the drains and leaving her behind, empty.

Lup is the sun – all energy, passion, fire, light, beauty. She’s explosive, powerful, radiant, the first thing anyone sees when they walk into a room. Barry’s the earth. Sturdy, solid, reliable, strong, comforting. He’s hopelessly trapped in Lup’s orbit, and happy for it. 

Which, Lucretia supposes, makes her the moon. Orbiting both, doomed to watch their celestial dance and never touch, distant, barren, lifeless. 

Barry dies. Early in the year. 

“I’m so sorry, Lup,” Taako says, looking plenty tearful himself. “I - I tried to save him, I – I couldn’t -” 

Lup drops her toast on the floor and brings a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and devastated. Her brother swoops in and wraps her in a hug, and Lucretia distantly hears Lup’s sobbing. 

But she barely registers it. 

Barry can’t be dead. He’s - he’s Barry. He’s so strong and reliable and – and Lucretia loves him. She needs him. How can she live on the ship without his laugh, low and rumbling, or the way he brings her coffee and sits with her when she can’t sleep, or his lovestruck replies to Lup’s witty comments? 

By the time she starts to feel guilty for making it all about her, Taako’s swept Lup out of the room, and she can hear Lup crying as they retreat down the corridor. 

Lucretia tries to write a passage about how Barry died, but she can’t bring herself to. Every time she listens to Taako’s description of the monster that killed him she feels sick, envisioning him being gored on the enormous tusks and swallowed in its gigantic maw and - 

She hopes it was quick. 

She can’t write anything. She’s got dozens of journals lying open, all around the room, and she can’t think of the words to put down in any of them. She tries to make notes on the flora and fauna of this plane – normally the easiest, most mundane part of her job – but even that is beyond her. 

Davenport nods, understandingly, and tells her that some time off is overdue. He tries to joke about company-mandated holiday days, but she just nods, mute, and retreats to her room. 

She still feels terrible for Lup. 

If it’s this bad for her, the moon orbiting their celestial relationship, how bad must it be for Lup? For – and Lucretia still feels a wave of bitterness in her throat at the thought – for Barry’s girlfriend? 

She wants to say something, but what is there to say? _I’m sorry?_ Nothing she says can bring Barry back. But that doesn’t stop her staring wistfully at Lup’s door, raising her hand to knock, and – and putting her hand down and slinking away. 

She’d only make the situation worse. Her own devastation over Barry’s death would certainly bring Lup down, erode any progress she’s made in moving forward these last few months, and it wouldn’t be fair. 

What if Lup realises? What if she goes in to offer her condolences and her crush is written all over her face? What if Lup calls her disgusting, predatory, trying to take advantage of her so soon after her boyfriend’s death? 

She can’t face it. 

But eventually she has to. 

It’s too hard to live without Barry and without Lup. She can’t handle it. Her feelings, too complex and varied to name, are eating her up from the inside. So, she knocks, late one evening when everyone else is asleep. 

And Lup murmurs, “come in,” so quietly Lucretia almost doesn’t hear. 

Lucretia opens the door to find Lup at her desk, staring out of the porthole at the world outside. She swivels on her chair to watch her come in and Lucretia has to suppress a gasp. She looks like hell; her eyes are red from crying, with black bags from sleeplessness, wearing just a crop top and shorts. She’s slouched, and it’s so different from her normal confident body language that it feels like she's looking at someone else. But she still cracks the smallest of smiles. “Lucy,” she says, her voice small and croaky. “It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, Lup. Are you – fuck, I’m sorry,” she chokes out, tears welling up in her own eyes. She tries to blink them away, be strong for Lup, but they overwhelm her and flow free, dripping down her cheeks. 

Then Lup’s on her, and she’s wrapped in a hug, and Lup’s rubbing circles on her back and shushing her. “Hey,” she frowns, when the tears have abated. “I’m meant to be comforting you.” 

Lup laughs wetly and flops bonelessly back into her chair. “Yeah, well.” She says. “I’ll - we’ll see him again, Lucy. Only a few months, right?” 

Lucretia nods, even though those few months feel like _decades,_ stretching away for the foreseeable future in her mind’s eye. “Right.” She feels like she’s looming, so she takes a seat on Lup’s bed. 

“I just – I miss him,” Lup says, before she looks away. “I missed you, too, these last few months.” 

Lucretia’s breath catches in her throat. “I - I’m sorry. I didn’t - I thought I’d only make it worse -” 

Lup shakes her head, looking straight at her. “No, never. You could never.” Her face is unreadable, inscrutable, and it's Lucretia's turn to avert her gaze. 

“I’m sorry, then.”

Lup shakes her head, and the next thing Lucretia knows she’s sat next to her on the bed. “You’re allowed to mourn, too, Luce. He was your best friend.” 

She nods, mute, trying to swallow down tears. Gods, this isn’t right. Lup’s lost her boyfriend, she should be comforting her, not the other way around! 

Lup wraps an arm around her waist and puts her head on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Luce. We’ll help each other, yeah?” 

At that, Lucretia does cry. She simply can’t hold it in any longer, and, finally, she lets herself mourn. It doesn’t stop her missing him, but it eases the weight in her chest. 

Lup rubs circles on her back, and Lucretia’s dimly aware of her shoulder getting wet as Lup cries, too. Eventually, her tears dry out, and they sit in silence for a while. 

Lup lifts her head from her shoulder and curls her legs up under her, facing Lucretia, and she brings a hand up to wipe away her tears. “Lucy, I’ve... I’ve not been sleeping well. Do you... do you wanna stay? Please?” 

Lucretia is... torn. 

Would she be taking advantage? She’s not got pure intentions, that’s for sure... but one night? And Lup needs her. And, obviously, she’d never expect Lup to do anything with her. Not now, and not ever. 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Yeah. I – I haven’t slept well either.” 

Lup smiles, and it’s the first time Lucretia’s seen a flash of the old Lup since _it_ happened. She can’t help but smile back, despite her wet eyes. “It’s a sleepover, then,” Lup says. 

Lup’s a restless sleeper, but Lucretia can’t bring herself to care. They tangle together, Lup’s arm over her stomach, her head on her shoulder and her hair in her face, but it smells of Barry’s shampoo and so she makes no move to brush it from her face. 

Even after everything, Lucretia considers herself lucky. 

She would’ve had to fill whole pages of her red journal with this story. 

Lup’s been keeping a calendar, marking off the days until regen. For her, it’s a joy that they’re on their last day in this plane. 

For Lucretia, it’s bittersweet. 

She’s genuinely delighted Barry will be back tomorrow. Nothing could change that; even after months there’s a weight in her chest telling her that something’s missing, that she’s not whole. And yet, she knows that her standing invitation to be Lup’s bedmate expires on the day Barry comes back. 

She blinks herself awake. Lup’s swaddled in the blankets she’d stolen in her sleep, her mouth slightly open, her hair mussed up in a halo around her head, and Lucretia watches her sleep, for a second, trying to etch every beautiful detail indelibly into her mind. 

It's the last time she’ll get the opportunity, after all. 

But then Lup’s eyes flutter open, softly, and they make eye contact as she smiles. “It’s Barry day, Luce.” 

Lucretia can’t help but smile back. Lup’s good humour is infectious, even though inside she feels like she’s being torn apart. “It is indeed,” she says. 

“Thank you,” Lup says, softly. “You - thank you for keeping me sane.” 

Lucretia shakes her head. “Lup, it’s - it’s been my pleasure.” 

Lup’s hand finds hers, and she loops her fingers into hers. Lucretia’s just slept alongside her, for god’s sake, but the simple act of holding hands is enough to put a blush on her cheeks. Lup looks happy, unconcerned, for the first time in weeks. Oh, Lucretia wishes it were so simple for her. 

Then, Lup makes things even more complex by tugging Lucretia’s hand to her lips and softly brushing her lips over her knuckles. Lucretia gasps, gently, and Lup smiles into her palm, staring at her with a soft, adoring look. 

Their faces are only inches apart, and when Lup closes the gap between them Lucretia barely has time to think, much less react. 

Lup presses a soft kiss to her lips. Just a peck, a quick and sweet kiss, but it’s enough to daze her, leave her feeling like she’s got stars orbiting her head like a cartoon. 

“Thank you,” Lup whispers, and Lucretia’s not sure for what any more, but she certainly doesn’t complain as Lup presses another kiss to her forehead, feather-light and chaste. 

“Lup, I – Lup,” Lucretia breathes, not sure whether she wants to ask her to stop or demand more. 

“Shhh,” Lup smiles, and goes in for a kiss again, on the lips this time, and Lucretia’s dazzled, stunned, dazed, astounded. It’s soft and sweet and nothing like how Lucretia had envisioned kissing Lup (and _oh_ , has she envisioned it.) 

Lup breaks the kiss, studying Lucretia’s face with a small smile, and gently reaches over and pushes her shoulder, tilting her backwards until she’s lying flat on her back, and then Lup swings a leg over her waist and leans down to kiss her again, her arms trapping Lucretia’s head in place as they hold Lup up. 

This time, the kiss is less sweet and chaste, dirtier and more passionate, as Lup worries her lip with her teeth, flicking her tongue into her mouth, and if she tastes slightly of morning breath Lucretia would never tell a soul, and actually did she mention that morning breath is her favourite flavour in the world? 

They’re still kissing when that golden light descends on them, and rips them apart, spinning them in a million directions and then pulling them back together, yanking on every connection Lucretia has. Only, this time, Lucretia fancies she can see Lup the whole time, grinning and winking at her. 

And then they’re back. 

They’re back, and Lup delightedly squeals in a way Taako will undoubtedly mock her for later and jumps into Barry’s arms, kissing him soundly, and - 

It hurts. Lucretia feels used; picked up and used and tossed aside, like a child’s toy that’s outlived its use. Not that she’d anticipated anything different, of course. She’d known she was a distraction, something to replace the Barry-shaped hole in Lup’s life, a plaything for a bored goddess. For, really, isn’t that what Lup is? Lucretia certainly worships her like one. But she’s an old testament goddess; giving and taking, testing, making her work for her faith. 

Lucretia never expected any different, but it rips her heart from her chest and stamps on it all the same. 

Barry knocks on her door, that evening. She recognises his knock, even after all this time. After all, there had been months that she’d wished on every star, prayed to every god, hoped beyond hope, that she’d be allowed to hear that knock again. 

Even so, she debates not letting him in. 

Lup has to have told him. He must know, about everything that happened. That she slept in his bed for months, kissing his girlfriend, making herself at home while he’d been dead. 

“Come in,” she says, despite herself. 

He opens the door and smiles softly at her, taking just one step inside before he stops, nervously wringing his hands. “Hey, Luce. I, uh, I just wanted to check up on you.” 

_Check up?_ That’s a funny thing to say to the woman who’s been sleeping with your girlfriend. “Uh, huh?” 

“Well, I – Lup told me you had a hard time.” He takes another step and sits down on the bed with her, keeping a reasonable distance between them. It feels like a gulf, like the Grand Canyon has opened between them. “Are you doing okay?” 

She nods. “Yeah, I – yeah.” 

How could she possibly explain the depth of her emotion? It goes far beyond simply mourning the loss of a friend. It's – Barry's more than that, to her. He’s one half of her heart, and he doesn’t even know it. What’s worse is she’s kissed the other half of her heart, but that’s his girlfriend. 

“Lup, uh, told me about what happened,” he says, his voice soft, his eyes full of worry. “That you guys kept each other sane. Thank you. I – I was worried about her, when I – well.” 

Lucretia just nods again. She’d thought, for a second, that he meant – That Lup had told him about their kiss. But, maybe not. And maybe that’s for the best, if it remains a one-off, and it remains between them. 

He takes her hands with his own, resting them on the bed. “Luce, you – you can talk to me. And Lup. I want you to know that we’re here for you.” 

“I - thank you,” she says. “Are you – how are you holding up?” 

He shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t worry about me. I'm fine. Just – Creesh, it’s important to me that you know that you can talk to us. If you need. Or, uh, if you want anything.” 

Gods, does she _want_ something. But it wouldn’t be fair to ask. If she had to ask them to invite her in, share what they have with her... She’d always feel like an interloper. Like she’d begged them to share their love with her and they resented her for it. 

“Thank you, Barry. I'm – I'm okay. Thank you,” she whispers, trying not to show her inner turmoil. 

He pulls a face. It reminds Lucretia of how he looks at a particularly difficult sample in the lab, one that refuses to follow the hypothesis he’s developed. “Creesh, I...” 

He tails off, and just looks at her for a second, that pouty look of frustration on his face, before he leans and presses his lips to hers. 

Kissing him is a different experience to kissing Lup. She’d been passionate and confident, knowing what she wanted and taking it. Barry is soft, cautious, tender, gentle, and she’s too stunned to even kiss him back for a second but then the _want_ takes over; she’s missed him so much, and all day she’s been terrified he’ll push her away for her dalliances with Lup, and - 

And he pulls away, and smiles at her. “Creesh. If you _want_ _anything_ , come and talk to us.” 

And he stands and walks back out of the room. 

Her mouth hangs open, her eyes fixed on the door as he leaves it slightly ajar behind him. 

Is he - 

Could it be - 

Really? 

She swings her legs off the bed and pads quietly to the door, poking her head out and looking down the corridor. Barry’s gone. 

But the door to his and Lup’s room is open. 

She closes her door quietly behind her and sneaks down the corridor. Everyone else is certainly asleep, but... this feels like something illicit, unsanctioned, something she has to hide. 

And she pushes their door open, just enough to peek inside. 

Barry’s sat on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling off the side, and Lup’s sat in his lap. They're kissing, passionately, desperately, like the world’s about to end and they have to make the most of each other while they can. Lucretia sucks in a gasp, feeling a wave of shame – she shouldn’t be seeing this, right? 

But Barry opens his eyes, pulling away from Lup, and he unmistakably winks at her. 

A flash of courage fills her, and she steps into the room, the door closing softly behind her. Lup turns away from Barry, watching as Lucretia walks, slowly, across the room. It feels like something’s possessed her, like the hand of god is propelling her towards them. She’s a passenger in her own body, watching through her eyes as she approaches them. And they watch her with looks of passion, of want, of need.

And finally, she’s next to them. 

Lup reaches out for her, grabbing a handful of pyjama shirt and pulling her down until their faces are level, and she kisses her, passionately, hard, like she’s poisoned and Lucretia’s the antidote. 

All too soon, she pulls away, and Lucretia whines, greedily, as strings of saliva break between their lips, but Barry brings a hand to her cheek and tilts her head towards him and he leans in for his turn. Equally passionate, equally desperate, his kiss is full of need, of – of lust. 

And Barry breaks the kiss, and Lup pulls her down and throws her to the bed and sits astride her and leans in for another kiss and - 

The world turns for Lucretia. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I know I posted a chapter already today but, well, here you go! 6000 words of Blupcretia. This took, like, eight hours, but I love them so much it was worth every second...  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed <3 or maybe check out my [tumblr!](https://sgrumby.tumblr.com/) Ty kings


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